Verlon sketched the scene in his notebook and returned to the path shortly after. The rest of the trip was about as could be expected. He had to dodge the occasional fallen boulder, climb up and down ledges, and slowly work his way through the Craggy Chasms. He gave wide berths to the occasional sound of mining and territories of beasts. Most of the stronger ones were noted in his journal as he passed by without too many issues.

After a day and a half more of travel, something finally changed. He heard it long before he saw it. A hauntingly beautiful melody bounced off the rocky outcroppings early in the morning, making his heart accelerate. The low whistle stopped after a moment, just in time for another to pick up the slack with a higher pitch. This continued as he walked, growing progressively louder as the noises began to overlap one another, drowning out the ambient sounds.

The lack of audio cues was disconcerting, though it was something he would have to get used to. The area ahead of him was infamous for its over-the-top, ear-shattering noises. He paused to eat and pulled a pair of earbuds from his satchel before he continued, making everything harder to hear and yet safer for his ears.

Eventually, trees began to appear in between the gaps of the rocks, standing proud in their shadowy perches. The land smoothed out, returning to grass and dirt as the ravines and chasms ceased appearing. The temperature also began to rise, and rapidly at that. If the Craggy Chasms was as cool as a fall sunrise, the area ahead, the Steamglade, was as hot as a summer day on the western beaches of the empire.

The trees soon replaced the rocks in increasing numbers as he entered the tier-two contamination zone. His Mire counter picked up in speed, nearly doubling as he strode forward into the Steamglade. The trees shifted as the screeching whistles grew louder, changing from simple evergreens to an ashy gray color as the grass lost its hue and grew soggy. The world looked like a filter was applied to it, turning almost black and white as the trees tripled in height and width. If he couldn’t see the occasional bit of color from passing birds and rodents, he would’ve thought he simply lost the ability to see color in its entirety.

Verlon was far more cautious as he moved forward. The Steamglade was a tier-two contamination zone. Only orange ranks or higher were legally allowed to venture in and for a good reason. The danger levels between the Craggy Chasms and this place were not even comparable. The creatures here, warped by the thicker miasmic presence, were far higher in number as the ecosystem could actually support life with its plants. Ironically, however, the plants were the largest danger in this place.

All around him, he heard deep, low-pitched rumbling under the cacophony of blaring whistles of steam. The rumbles almost sounded like whispers as they overlapped themselves with echoes. Occasionally, a loud pop several times louder than a gunshot would cause him to flinch in pain from the strength of the noise.

He moved over to a nearby tree, as he adjusted his clothes to better suit the burning temperatures of the Steamglade. Standing so close to the gray tree, he could feel the heat radiating off of it. Its ashy gray bark had several marks on it, almost like craters as a faint white steam poured from its open wounds and settled on the ground. It was quite an eerie look for most people, though he would rather the seeping wounds rather than the ones yet to pop.

Verlon pulled his compass from his satchel, making sure he was still headed north as he steadily trudged onward. Every step caused a squelch barely audible over the ambient noise. His nerves were on overdrive as he tried to listen for the faintest of sounds through his earbuds. Every crack and rumble caused him to flinch as he walked with his rifle at the ready. Oh, how he hated this place.

He passed by a tree. What caught his attention wasn’t necessarily the tree itself, but what lay against it. A pair of skeletal legs were wrapped in the roots. There was no torso or even clothes, just white bones that looked to be human, picked clean. He didn’t dwell on the scene for too long before continuing onward. That wasn't the first batch of steamed bones he had seen, and it surely wouldn't be the last.

The worst part of the Steamglade was the visibility. The entire place, as its name suggested, was covered in a fine layer of steam that acted like fog. Only shadows showed in the white obstruction after fifty feet. At any moment, something could close the gap and attack. He wasn’t nearly as proficient with his sword as his rifle, so his odds didn’t look good if something got to him before he could shoot it. The only good thing about the trees were their ability to force everything to slow to a cautious crawl.

He attempted to calm himself down with little success. The Steamglade was by far his least favorite contamination zone and stressed him out every time he passed through. Not only was it extraordinarily hot and humid, but it also had the added bonus of occasionally exploding. Truly the perfect combination for a nightmare-like landscape such as this.

A shadow covered him for a brief moment, making him look up into the steam-obstructed sky. The massive shadow of a creature lurked before continuing to fly. He unconsciously tightened his grip on a rifle. If he was lucky, he would be able to get through this orange-rank contamination zone without any conflict.

After nearly an hour of his cautious pace and avoiding the occasional shadow, Verlon heard the rumbling earth grow louder next to him as a high-pitched noise started up. He reacted before his brain could even think, flinging himself into a tight roll forward as he slammed into the gray grass. Before he could even get up, an ear-shattering burst came from behind him.

A tree’s branch burst from its core, launching with enough force to shatter into splinters against another. A plume of steam, scalding hot as it warmed the entire area up, sprang from where the branch once was with a low whistle that underplayed the pressure of the plume. The steam rushed far and wide, covering the entire area he was just in seconds. If he hadn’t dodged…

Verlon stood back up and put distance between the steam geyser erupting from the tree. Now his entire side was wet from where he hit the ground, making the humidity all the more terrible. Oh, how he hated this place. The sooner he left the better.

 

Verlon had always heard tales of the riches hidden behind the layers of steam from other Seekers. Fantastical ruins powered by the natural flow of pressure were the main draw to this horrid place, and indeed they were quite extraordinary. He had only found one ruin in his travels through the Steamglade, though even that was an accomplishment considering the low visibility and volatile nature of the forest.

Did he think looking for the ruins was a good idea? Yes and no. Assuming a person was lucky and could stumble across an ancient civilization’s ruins, then it was probably worth the danger. Most ruins were a treasure trove of wealth. If they could even find one high-grade relic, a person could be set for life without having to get a job.

And yet, he wouldn’t recommend anyone to actually spend the time looking for ruins in the Steamglade. He, along with most other Seekers he talked to, would recommend qualifying for a yellow cross as soon as possible and going onto the tier three contamination zones, the Graviton Highlands.

The dangers of the Steamglade were high. Other places were also dangerous, yes, but the dangers there could be avoided easier. For instance, the Craggy Chasms could be safely navigated as long as the one navigating was careful and knowledgeable. Here, the dangers were instantaneous and based on luck. Any moment there could be an explosion of steam catching even an experienced Seeker off guard. Unless they had some kind of relic for defense, they were toast.

Now assuming a Seeker found a ruin, it wasn’t a guaranteed treasure trove. Some were simply empty or held items of little value. Others were already been picked clean by previous Seekers. Most had some sort of defensive measure protecting them. It was incredibly common for a Seeker to make it through the dangers of the miasmic zones only to end up dead in a ruin. Out of everything in Endenheim, greed was the number one killer.

 

He dodged steam geysers several more times as he kept up his pace throughout the day. He only slowed to a stop once he came across a small clearing in the trees. The clearing couldn’t have been larger than a city block and had several mounds of dirt sticking out of it. Verlon checked his beat-up pocket watch. There were a couple hours before sunset.

An inner conflict arose in him; to stay or not to stay, that was the question. The young man made a decision. He would go ahead and set up camp here for the night. There was little chance he would find another gap in the trees, and it was better to lose a few hours of travel than lose his life stumbling about at night.

Verlon walked around the clearing, staying close to the tree line as he observed from several angles. Clearings in the Steamglade were prime real estate considering their relative safety from the explosive treeline. He had already past a dozen or so clearings that held nests on his way out. Of course, he tried to mark them down, but cartography was hard in a place with low landmarks to triangulate position. There was little doubt in his mind something had already set up a nest, so he needed to be methodical in how he approached it.

He cautiously checked the mounds, noticing a few prints reminiscent of a paw. There weren’t a lot of them and all the prints were similar, so whatever lived here was probably just one or two beasts. Most of the prints led past the other mounds towards the center, and largest, pile of dirt. A few led around the place, almost as if whatever beast left them had been inspecting its domain.

He couldn’t just observe forever. After a time of inactivity, he crept up into the clearing. Calling them mounds was a bit misleading he learned after getting close to one on the outskirts. They were more craters with large walls of dirt to ward off the trees’ explosive disposition than mounds.

The yellow Seeker swiftly moved in, using the smaller craters as cover. The entire time he moved, he kept his rifle trained on the center and swept the entire place with his eyes. He focused in, dashing from one to another as he closed the distance. There were three mounds until the central one. Then two. Then one. He paused and waited a minute, half expecting whatever nested here to jump out. The minute stretched on to two. Then three.

He took a deep breath and glanced down at his shoes, noting the three glowing dots along the ridge line. They were recharged and ready to go, should things go south. Then, he charged the largest crater, fearlessly peaking over the edge to reveal- nothing. The crater showed signs of life, but nothing was home.

Really, it wasn’t all that surprising. There were still a couple hours until the sunset. This was the prime time to go out hunting. He had seen this many times in his days as a scout and had even used the periods of absence to his advantage on occasion. At some point, almost every beast needed to leave to hunt for food. Going off the theory that whatever lived here was hunting, then it only made sense that it would come back as the night fell. Until then, though, he had time to poke around and set up for an ambush.

The first thing he did was snoop around and look for clues as to what kind of creature he had invaded. Obviously, the beast was some kind of strong or apex predator considering its living space. He highly doubted it had dug so many hidey holes just for the fun of it, so it had most likely dislodged a pack of other creatures from this location. The important thing of note was that the beast held the territory.

The central crater was filled with strands of gray fur. Bones of various shapes and sizes were also scattered about, likely from past meals. There were even a few human ones, though they were bare without a hint of previous belongings. The beast's tracks looked quite familiar now that he was closer, like something he had seen before. Definitely dog-like in shape, but far larger.

And that was really all he needed to know. There was only one creature native to the Steamglade that had similar tracks: Stelves. But something wasn’t quite right in assuming the creature was a Stelf. They were wolf-like creatures that lived in large packs scattered about the Steamglade. Verlon was sure this beast was by itself.

An outcast, maybe? A worry nagged at the back of his mind; what if this was a mutant Stelf? It wasn’t impossible. Stelves were miasmic beasts to begin with, so if this was a Stelf that had absorbed more miasma and mutated further… This was going to be a tough fight. But too much time had already passed, and he still had a better chance of surviving against a mutant than wandering about an explosive forest at night.

Of course, there was always the chance it wasn’t a Stelf. Locking himself into a single line of thought without considering other options was the height of stupidity. The beast could be something else that had migrated in from a different contamination zone. Although most creatures tended to stick to the level of contamination they were used to, it wouldn’t be the first time something moved. What if it was a Stormhound from the Graviton Highlands? He had confidence he could kill one, but that was in the tier-three contamination zone where he had broad sightlines.

He bent over and picked up a piece of fur, feeling a slight shock through his hand as remnant static arced through the gray hair. It was probably a Stormhound, though he didn’t have the confidence to say it definitely was. He was warry about dubbing it a Stormhound for the same reason he didn't want to call it a Stelf: both were pack animals. Still, miasmic mutation could cause some weird things, so it wasn’t too outlandish for the beast to be an electrical Stelf or lone Stormhound.

As he was looking around the place, he noticed movement from the corner of his eye. Verlon flicked around, raising his rifle and precisely locking onto the moving shadow, only to pause right before pulling the trigger as a man walked out of the steam. The man on the other end of his barrel shot his hands up into the air. “Woah! Woah! Friendly! Friendly!”

The young man didn’t immediately relax his guard, keeping his sights trained on the man. He was wearing what looked to be leather armor protecting his vitals. A gun, one that he recognized as an MP18 - a relatively new weapon, was strapped to his backpack’s side along with a rather menacing two-handed sword. For all intents and purposes, the other man looked like a Seeker except he didn’t have his cross showing. “Proof?”

It may seem a little cold to continue to aim at an obviously surrendering person, but there were all sorts of monsters out there. Verlon had heard more than enough horror stories about shapeshifting creatures ambushing people while disguised as a human. He didn’t know if such stories were true per se, but they were spread for a reason. This was also the reason he tended to avoid others when out in the field when he could.

The man nodded several times, reaching down but then pausing as Verlon tensed up. “I’m uh, I’m reaching for my cross. Don’t shoot me, please.” He then slowly pulled out a necklace hidden under his armor, showing a yellow cross.

Verlon lowered his rifle, still pointed in the general direction of the man but not at him. “Alright, come on over!” He had to yell to be heard over the painful background noises.

Only then did the man approach. He spoke loudly, making sure his voice could carry over the loud ambiance. “Hello there, my friend. Fine day in the Steamglade, ay?” As if to prove his point, a nearby tree shot a burst of steam with its telltale whistle.

“You could say that.” He held out his hand towards the man. “Verlon, ranger.”

The man shook his hand. He had a baseball cap covering his head, which appeared to be bald. A thick brown beard covered his chin, hiding his rather sun-scorched flesh. “Stefan, bruiser. Is there enough room here for one more?” The leather-clad man motioned towards the rather large clearing.

They were both Seekers, but after the orange rank, Seekers became more specialized. Three primary roles were accepted by the Sekorium with several sub-roles underneath those. Rangers, such as Verlon, were focused on attacking from afar. It was a bad day if a ranger was in melee distance, though most had some way of escaping. Rangers were good but heavily dependent on having a good weapon.

Bruisers were Seekers who fought up close and personal. They were maniacs in Verlon’s opinion. They gave up the safety of range to attack usually with cold weaponry. That being said, there was a simple effectiveness of cutting off a limb using an axe that couldn’t be denied. Cold weaponry began to shine the more powerful a beast was. Even firearms began to fall off in tier-four contamination zones due to the sheer tankiness of the beasts therein. And, to be frank, anyone who can live in a tier-four zone was sure to have a powerful relic to help out in some way.

Tanks were the most mentally unhinged. They willingly risked life and limb to take the brunt of a creature’s attack, surviving either by dodging or blocking. They did it all just to give their teammates an opening to attack. They were by far the bravest of the bunch, and also the longest lived funnily enough. Rangers tended to fall to ambushes and Bruisers were likely to get turned on and slaughtered. Tanks were the de facto leader of most fireteams due to their proximity in battles.

The two ‘melee’ roles were usually most likely to have relics in a fireteam. No one know why, but the ancient civilization had quite the hard on for cold weaponry. Almost every combat focused relic was armor or some kind of cold weaponry. In the years of Seekers scouring Endenheim, Verlon could only think of one relic firearm. The only reason he knew of it was because its wielder, Ghost, was a famous white cross, the highest level of Seeker.

With all that being said, the ‘roles’ of Seekers didn’t truly matter at the end of the day. They just existed to help fireteams form quickly either out in the field or before setting off. It was much easier to just say ‘ranger’ than to inform another person of your entire style and equipment. Oh, and it only became prevalent after orange rank since most Seekers joined together for excursions starting at yellow rank. Safety in numbers in all that. Most people weren't like Verlon in acting as a scout by his lonesome. They would rather be the monster slayers, the raiders, the heroes that the common folk looked up to, hence they joined fireteams.

Verlon shrugged as he set his pack down and took a drink of water. “Sure, but we’ll have to save room for a rather large third.”

Stefan looked about the fur and bone-covered crater as he set down his pack and pulled out his own canteen. It had the same vibe as his own, which wasn't too much of a surprise. Endless Flasks were quite common. “I take it we are intruding on a not-so-kind host?”

“I’m guessing closer to nightfall. Probaly a mutated Stelf or Stormhound.” Verlon said as he pulled out some of his equipment. His hand paused as he grabbed a stick of dynamite before passing over it. Now that he had backup, he wouldn’t have to take quite a drastic measure. For now, he settled for his shovel.

Stefen frowned, his bushy eyebrows pulling downward as he stared at the fur scattered around the crater. “Hmm… you think one came down from the Graviton Highlands?”

“Perhaps. Found a Corpse Bud in the Craggy Chasms, so maybe something powerful moved in. Displaced a bunch of beasts and all that.” Verlon started to dig, throwing dirt up onto the crater’s walls to increase their defensive property. It was a bit annoying, considering the soggy state of the soil, but it was better than nothing. If a slightly higher wall could throw whatever lived here off for even a moment, it would be worth the annoyance. Even if it didn't, the added protection from the explosive tree line was much appreciated.

Stefen’s frown deepened as he stroked his beard like some wise sage. “That’s a worrying thought. The Sekorium would’ve put out a warning if they knew…”

Verlon nodded along as Stefen joined him in shoring up their defenses. “Heading back in or out?”

“Graviton Highlands for me. I got separated from my fireteam in the Craggy Chasms, but we had plans to raid a Trowel nest. You?” Stefan said as he slammed his shovel into the ground.

“Scouting contract. Also Graviton Highlands.” He didn’t say anything more about it. Part of his contract was confidentiality regarding the exact nature of his mission.

There was a moment of silence. Or as silent as the Steamglade gets with its constant whistles in the background. “Well, I appreciate you letting me stay here for the night.”

“Assuming we survive.” Verlon wouldn’t call himself a downer, more… pragmatic than anything.

“Right, assuming we survive…”